


I Am Not There, I Do Not Sleep

by alatarmaia4, girlsonthetv



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, i couldn't find any that fulfilled my needs so i wrote it myself, listen why not, thanks critical role discord for helping me live my dreams, with help from like-minded friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alatarmaia4/pseuds/alatarmaia4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsonthetv/pseuds/girlsonthetv
Summary: Everyone must cross into the afterlife of their choosing, someday. The Raven Queen has emissaries who guide them.aka, the fic where I write through my Molly feels and the stages of grief, and also get in some retroactive campaign one sadness.





	I Am Not There, I Do Not Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy. it sure did happen that molly died.
> 
> with thanks to girlsonthetv for some very, very good key plot points! Also, the title is from Mary Elizabeth Frye's poem, my favorite ever, Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep. You've probably seen it somewhere before.

After Beau went to sleep, when their watch was done, Molly stayed up a little longer, restless. He shuffled his cards, shuffled, reshuffled, and ended up with the one he’d pulled for their game still in his hand.

It was still the same as when he’d seen it earlier. The Hanged Man.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, Molly could hear the splashing of waves. This made zero sense, because as far as he was aware, he had been landlocked a moment ago. The sensation of whatever he was lying on rocking underneath him permeated his foggy mind, as did the sensation of something painfully jamming into his neck.

He lifted his head, patted a hand around behind him, and realized that it was a rough wooden seat. Then he got the idea that he could have just looked instead, and opened his eyes.

His surroundings were nearly as foggy as his head felt. Around him,  there were various trinkets littering the floor of what appeared to be a small rowboat. Jewelry, drawings, daggers, small boxes. Things people would carry on their person, because they had sentimental value. Molly thought impulsively of Nott and her love for shiny things. 

At the prow of the boat, not more than a foot or two away, a cloaked figure stood. It was little more than shadow given form, and at the moment it had reached out long arms ending in two pale hands to push the boat along via a long pole. The sound of water around the boat was strangely muffled, maybe by the fog, but one pertinent fact tugged at Molly’s mind.

“Doesn’t a pole-man go in the  _ back  _ of the boat?” He asked aloud.

The figure paused. The boat stilled, and with the lack of movement, the sound of water splashing stopped entirely, which was unnerving. Molly wondered if he was being kidnapped, and if his kidnapper - surely not one of the slavers, Lorenzo and his carts were nowhere in sight - was a joking man.

Unexpectedly, in the next second, the figure said in a surprisingly normal voice,  _ “You’re  _ in the back of the boat. There’s no space for me to stand.”

“What, did I get here before you did?” Molly asked. “You’re the boatman. Logically, I got in while you were already here.”

“What’s logical about this situation? At all? Normally people say,  _ Who are you, where is this, how did I get here.  _ Things like that.”

“Those are excellent questions for you to answer,” Molly agreed.

The pole-man sighed, and anchored his pole to a small hook on the boat’s prow, which was also incongruous  with the small, cheap rowboat.  He, if it was a he, sat down on the other small bench, careless of the trinkets he was knocking out of the way with his feet. 

“You’re In-Between,” he said. Molly could hear the capital letters. “That’s where this is. You got here the same way everyone else gets here.”

“Which is..? And you’re not very helpful, you know. In-Between what?”

“In between planes, technically,” said the pole-man. “I don’t know if this is technically the Astral Sea, because I know the Astral Plane has portals to every other plane, but it’s something like it.”

“How did I get to another  _ plane?”  _ Molly asked incredulously. The pole-man pointed at him - or rather, at a spot on his chest.

Molly looked down.

His coat was torn nearly as badly as his ghostly skin appeared to be. The pale lavender, in a somehow non-gory kind of way, showed a hint of a ribcage and bloody redness underneath. The redness, not browned at all despite the fact that it wasn’t wet either, had dripped down on all sides (he had, Molly recalled dizzily, been lying down) and stained his shirt, and worst of all discolored the elaborate embroidery of his coat.

“Ah,” Molly said, putting several pieces together and seeing that he disliked the image the puzzle formed. He poked the mortal wound experimentally, to see if it hurt. It did not. Maybe it was only the ghost of a mortal wound. “Fuck.”

    “Did you embroider that yourself?” The pole-man asked. “It’s beautiful work.” 

    “Um.” Molly wasn’t one to use fillers if he could avoid them, but the inquiry caught him off guard. “Yes, most of it.” 

    A soft sound of acknowledgement came from under the pole-man’s hood.  “I was never much good at it myself. I wasn’t patient enough, and got tired of sticking myself with needles.”

    “Do you have much time for embroidery, ferrying people across this-” Molly peered over the side, and failed to see anything at all besides fog. “-river of the damned?”

    “It’s the Astral Sea,” the pole-man said, sounding amused. Molly was disappointed - he’d been hoping for more spookiness. The fog could only do so much. “Everyone crosses this, not just the damned.”

    “Sounds like it should be more crowded, then.”

    “It’s very large. And I’m not the only ferryman.”

    “Well, you run a crowded ship anyway.” Molly poked at a rusted locket with a broken chain using the tip  of  one boot. “What is this stuff?”

    “The sentimental objects of those who have crossed the river. The ties to their old lives which must be given up in order to move forward, and embark on the next great adventure that is death!” The pole-man gestured with his pole as if he thought himself quite the motivational speaker. 

“I’m not dumping my coat in the bottom of this shabby old boat,” Molly said flatly.

    The pole-man snorted in an amused way. “You don’t have to, unless you don’t have anything else. Though I don’t think I would look half bad in it.” 

“What, so the ferryman gets looter’s rights to anything in his boat?”

“Why do you think there’s only crap left? I’m dead too. I don’t have anything else interesting to do.”

“You’re dead?” Molly asked. “I figured you were like...I don’t know, a spirit or a minor god, probably.”

“Nope.” The pole-man shrugged. “Can’t say I died in a normal fashion, but I’m as dead as they come. Her Majesty assured it.”

“You mean the Raven Queen,” Molly guessed. The pole-man sounded tired when he spoke of his situation. 

“No other Queen to bother with here.”

“Are you rotting or something? Is that why the hood?”

The pole-man was still for a half second, then laughed and threw back his hood. Underneath was a surprisingly handsome face, vaguely elvish with dark eyes and darker hair hanging down on either side.  A few stray hairs dangled over his forehead, small and out of the way enough to be attractive in a roguish, scruffy way. 

“Sorry,” said the pole-man. “I forget how easy it is to look spooky and ethereal here when you can’t see me very well. Normally people don’t say anything.”

“They’re missing out,” Molly said automatically. The pole-man smirked. “I suppose if you’re dead, you were alive once, right? You must have a name.”

“It’s Vax’ildan.”

“Sounds Elvish. I’m Molly.”

“It is. And I know. Mollymauk Tealeaf. I asked to pick you up specifically.”

“What for?” Molly said, caught off guard - both that Vax’ildan knew his name, and that he’d said nothing about Lucien. Vax’ildan smirked again, but it was closer to a smile.

“I’ve got a soft spot for adventurers,” he said. “You remind me of an old friend.”

    Molly could remember three times  when other people had said his full name. Gustav, who first gave it to him; Caleb when his past before his rebirth as Molly had come barging in through the front door like it knew him well; and now Vax’ildan, with an easy grace as his tongue wrapped around each syllable. It was weird, but grounding, and nice. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again out of Vax’ildan’s mouth.

“I don’t suppose I’ve met your old friend?” He asked. “I might not remember, though.” Somehow it seemed easier to talk about such things, now that he was dead. It didn’t bother him as much anymore. Lucien had already caught up to him, and astonishingly something  _ else  _ had killed him. What worse could happen?

“I doubt it,” Vax’ildan said. “He’s a busy man, and a continent away. You might like him if you met him, but you might not. He’s an acquired taste. Less so now, though.”

“You miss him?” Molly wanted to hear Vax’ildan talk more; his accent, definitely not something that Wildemount produced, was entrancing. But Vax’ildan’s face took on a lonely and sorrowful cast.

“Of course,” he said, so quietly that it could have been to himself and not to Molly.

Molly cleared his throat. Reluctance to talk had left him, but apparently the dead could still get embarrassed. “So,” he said, “what’s on the other side of the river? A judge? A jury? The Queen herself?”

“None of the above,” Vax’ildan said. “I don’t really know what’ll be on the other side until I get there. You could guess better than me.”

“Why?”

“Do you have a goddess?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “Low-key, but yes. The moon’s always been a friend to me.”

“Then Sehanine’s realm it is,” Vax’ildan said. “That’s lucky. She lives in Arborea. I’ve seen the edges of her forest before. Reminds me of a place I went once called the Moonbrush. There’s always starlight coming through the trees.”

“Right,” Molly said, feeling absolutely nothing about spending an eternity in a starlit forest. “Speaking of going to this realm of Sehanine, I notice we aren’t moving.” Vax’ildan still had his pole in hand from when he’d used it to emphasize his gestures, but he hadn’t stood or made a move to push them any further along.

“Oh, I guess we haven’t,” Vax’ildan said. He did not move. 

“Are we...going to?”

“Are you eager to get to Sehanine’s realm?”

Molly considered the question. He was beginning to realize that being dead made him more removed from his emotions and opinions than would be comfortable for a living person, but it wasn’t bothering him yet. “Not really,” he said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to confront that particular question for maybe another year.”

_ “You’re  _ optimistic.”

“Considering my circumstances, I think so.” Probably he’d been lucky to get two years before even hearing the name Lucien. “Look, Vax’ildan-”

“Oh, don’t call me that, I only get full-named when I’m in trouble. Vax is fine.”

“Alright, Vax. Is going backwards an option? I might as well ask.”

    “No. This has always been a one-way boat.” Vax chuckled. “But like you said, it’s always good to ask.” 

“What about resurrections? Those happen, don’t they?”

“If you’ve got someone waiting on the starting dock and calling for you, that’s different. But it’s just you and me, Mollymauk.”

“And you’re not taking us anywhere,” Molly said. Vax shrugged.

“You’re an adventurer,” he said. “I know how this works. It’s easier on their end if you’re not all the way there yet. But you just say the word, and we’ll keep going.”

Molly hesitated. “How long will we wait?”

“I mean, who knows how long it’ll be here compared to how long there. I haven’t been on the Material Plane in, geez, decades probably. I don’t know what difference, if any, there is.”

Molly had an idea. “Well, if we’re going to be here for a long time…” He rummaged in the pockets of his coat. He always had them with him ; that had to be true in death, too . He withdrew a much-loved deck of tarot cards from one of his pockets, worn over the years, a couple of the cards stained with unknown substances. “Pick a card?” 

    Vax looked at Molly curiously, searching his eyes for a bluff as he drew a card. “It’s...the Wheel of Fortune. Sounds like a pulp novel.” 

“I’ve heard of a wildly popular traveling show by the same name,” Molly said. “Never was in the same town at the same time, though. The card, however, has its own meaning. It can represent a change in fortune, or that your situation has an uncertain outcome. Whichever outcome it is, it’ll be something you’ll have to be careful with.”

Vax turned the card over idly in his fingers, looking thoughtful. He had long, clever fingers; Molly spied a glint of steel underneath his deeply shadowed cloak, and guessed he’d used daggers in life. Perhaps his ferryman was an ex-thief. 

    “Another card?” He suggested, shuffling the remaining twenty-one.

    “Should I put this one back?” Vax asked.

    “And draw it again? I don’t think so. They can be insistent sometimes.” Molly fanned out the stack. “Go ahead.”

    Vax hesitated for only a moment, his hand darting in and pulling away a second card. “The Star,” he read, flipping it over to display it. Molly, not for the first time, admired the vivid watercolors of the illustration.

    “A bright light of hope,” he said, “for us poor old dead folks. The Star represents what action should be taken - it illuminates a time to reflect on what’s precious to you and what isn’t.”

    “Well,” Vax said, spreading his hands to encompass the blank foggy sea and the piles of rusted detritus in the bottom of the boat, “there’s no better place for it. Shall I keep drawing until it gives us the answer to the question of what is and isn’t precious?”

    Molly hesitated. He knew the third card was usually an outcome, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. He felt just alive enough, still, to be frightened of the prospect of crossing over. If the boat reached the opposite shore, that was it. Vax had made it sound like while he was still in the Astral Sea, a resurrection could still reach him.

    “Maybe something else, just to change it up,” he said. “I learned how to cast runes once from-” The story, and the lie, choked coming out of his mouth, and Molly stumbled to a halt. Vax smiled.

    “I guess you must have taught yourself how to do it,” he said, “or something like that, right? Something that wasn’t whatever you were about to say.”

    “No,” Molly said, “it was an old-” wizard, he was going to say, who lived at the top of a mountain and subsisted on pure magic, but the words got blocked up in his throat and he nearly bit his tongue.

    “It’s very difficult for the dead to lie,” Vax said. “Sorry. Something about death being the ultimate truth or something, I don’t know. But I’ve never seen someone cast runes before, so I don’t really care how you learned. I’m easy to impress.” 

    “I may not be able to find any,” Molly said, the thought occurring to him. “Is there something in here we can improvise with?”

    Vax reached down, and rummaged around in the rubbish. After a minute or two, he plucked out a drawstring bag, which he handed to Molly. Molly opened it, and reddish-orange stones with carved runes spilled onto his hand.

    “Lucky find,” Molly said.

    “I can usually find what I’m looking for,” Vax said, “if it’s of no importance.”

    “A luckier skill.” Molly pretended not to hear the bitter edge of the second half of that sentence. He tipped the runes back into the bag. “Normally I need a table for this, but my hand will do. Draw three that feel right, and put them here.” He extended one hand, palm up, and offered the bag with the other.

    “Take your cards back, first. I wouldn’t want them to stay in the boat forever.”

    “Oh, right.” Molly shuffled the Wheel and the Star back into place, and slipped the deck back into his pocket. The runestones in the bag clicked against each other every time he moved it.

    “Am I drawing for me,” Vax asked when Molly offered the bag to him again, “or for you?”

    “For you, obviously,” Molly said. “Why would you want to draw for me?”

    Vax raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. Molly got the strangest feeling, as three small stones were laid on his hand, that Vax was purposefully thinking about him as he drew. 

    “So?” Vax said when he’d put down the third one. “Do you know enough about runes to tell me what these mean?”

    “I know more than you, at least,” Molly said. Vax had laid them down backwards, from Molly’s perspective, so he started from the right rather than the left. “This first one, symbolic of the past, is - huh. Backwards.”

    “There’s a rune called backwards?”

    Molly snorted. “It’s called Fehu.”

    Vax was smiling, looking pleased with himself at having made Molly laugh. “Is it symbolic if it’s backwards?”

    “It’s always symbolic,” Molly said. “Fehu is personal gain or some kind of wealth that you’ve worked hard to obtain. Backwards, it’s the opposite. A loss, or failure.” Molly wondered if dying counted as a loss when you were the one who died. 

    “Failure,” Vax said quietly, his eyes shadowed. “Hm.” 

    “The second is the present,” Molly said quickly, “whatever present two dead people have, anyway. This is Raidho - it means a journey of some kind.”

    “That one’s obvious, then.” Vax patted the side of the boat.

    “Sometimes the cards - stones,” Molly corrected, “are not subtle.” He tried for a cheerful grin. He kept forgetting to adopt his more mystical persona - here he was, just telling Vax what the cards and stones meant with no showmanship at all. Death had wrought terrible things on Mollymauk Tealeaf. 

    “And I assume the third one is the future?”

    “Jera,” Molly said, glancing down. “Lucky us, this one can’t be backwards.” It could lie in opposition to other runes, whatever that meant, but he didn’t know how to identify when it was doing that. “It’s...not symbolic of a harvest, but more of a prosperous time. You know, life moving on.” Damn, that sounded worse when he said it aloud. Molly restrained a wince, and tried not to think about what it might mean. “Or at least, reaping what you sowed earlier. But I might be wrong.” He tipped his hand, and the runes clattered into the bottom of the boat. The bag, when he dropped it, followed more silently. “I’m not very good at reading runes.”

    “Like you said, you’re still better than me,” Vax  replied . “We still don’t know what’s precious, according to your cards. Are we going to learn that now?” 

    “Do you want to?” Molly still didn’t, really, because the future had always been frightening to him and  death hadn’t changed that yet . He did want to learn more about Vax, however, if only so he could keep the knowledge close to him in the secret chambers of his heart. Something he knew that others didn’t.  It didn’t hurt that Vax was handsome . “How would you like me to read your palms?” 

    Vax’s eyes twinkled like they seemed to do often. Vax was a curious person, Molly was learning, someone who admired everything the world had  in store  for him even if it wasn’t that impressive. “Sure. We have all the time in the world, technically.”

    “Your dominant hand provides insight into your outward appearance - boring things like that.” Molly said playfully as he brought Vax’s left hand up to his face to look closely. “I want to know about  _ you. _ ” 

    Vax laughed softly. “Do you now.”

    Molly said nothing for a minute, taking the opportunity to feel the texture of Vax’s hand, admire each finger, trace the lines with a nail and feel Vax’ildan shudder a bit.  He was glad he’d guessed right by taking Vax’s left hand. It would have been embarrassing if he had been a southpaw.  “You have a short head line. You don’t spend much time mulling things over?” 

    Vax laughed out loud, a shamelessly cheerful sound. “No, I really don’t.”

    Molly couldn’t help but giggle a bit himself. “Your heart line is also short and straight. You show your feelings through actions, rather than words.”

    “This is more like a personality test, then. It doesn’t tell the future.” 

    “No. It can tell us about the past, though.” Molly traced the life line on Vax’s palm again, just to make sure. “Your life line is broken. You’ve had traumatic experiences, and they’ve deeply impacted your life choices.” 

    Vax went very quiet, and Molly worried for a moment that he had touched a nerve.  He seemed to have the bad luck to be able to guess well enough about Vax’s history that he hit upon the darker parts of it. 

    “If not for my traumatic experience, I likely wouldn’t be here, ” Vax said eventually, “but isn’t that the case for everyone?” Vax’s smile was very clearly forced, but Molly wasn’t one to chastise others for forced smiles. 

    “I hate to benefit from others’ tragedy, but I don’t think I can help it in this case,” Molly said. He was still holding Vax’s hand. 

    “Benefit, huh.”

    “I  _ could  _ be benefitting more, of course.”

    “More?”

    “There’s plenty of ways to pass the time, if we’ve got as long as we want to wait.”

    “Just so I’m clear that I’m reading this correctly,” Vax said, “is this the part where you ask how much we’ll have to do before the boat flips over? Because it won’t.”

    “I am  _ so  _ glad we’re on the same page,” Molly said enthusiastically.

    “You’re a little predictable. In a good way.” Vax moved his hand just enough to draw attention to how Molly was still holding onto it. Molly weighed his options, and did not let go. Vax didn’t seem to mind. 

    “Are you sure it’s not because people have asked before?” Molly asked. “I’d hate to be unoriginal.”

    “Funnily enough, most people have other things on their mind. You might’ve noticed, but I look ominous as all hell with the hood up.”

    “You are still rocking that cloaked-in-shadow look, you know.”

    Vax looked down at himself with an air of surprise. Scoffing, he undid the invisible pin of the cloak and threw it back from his shoulders. Whatever the cloak was made of, it had been doing its job at cloaking what was underneath. Surprisingly, Vax wore little black - his armor, decorated with raven feathers, was the exception. The layers underneath were dark blues and subtle red-browns, and from what Molly could see of his boots (the rubbish in the boat obscured parts of them), they were intricately tooled and had a stripe of blue running down the back and over the heel. 

    “Could use a little more color,” Molly commented.

    “I relied a lot on not being seen,” Vax said. “I don’t think your sense of color was - ha - in the cards.”

    “It’s always in the cards,” Molly said flippantly. “Feathers are all well and good, but that’s leaning a little too hard into an aesthetic, isn’t it? Look, feel this, it’s the best kind of coat I’ve ever owned.”

    Vax, obligingly, felt the proffered sleeve of Molly’s coat. His eyes dropped to Molly’s chest for half a second. “It is soft,” he agreed. “Must be a bitch to keep clean, though.”

    “...I’m not sure I have to worry about that anymore. Speaking of, is this permanent?” Molly gestured to his chest. 

    Vax leaned forward to run his fingers lightly over Molly’s chest. Molly shivered, but more reflexively than through any real feeling of goosebumps. The tips of Vax’s fingers nearly passed through the fabric of his clothes and the faint purple of his skin, like Molly was no more than a ghost. 

    But the wound changed. His skin crept over the redness and exposed bone until his chest was as smooth as it had ever been in life. Molly ran a hand over it, and felt rough, rounded scars under his palm. He took Vax’s palm again, just to test, and noticed for the first time the way he could half see Vax’s browner hand through his own.

    “That’s creepy,” he said. 

    “Well, you’re dead,” Vax said. He turned over their clasped hands, and Molly could see purple through Vax’s palm. “If someone living were here, it would be more obvious. As it is, we’re solid enough to touch, but only to each other.” 

    “That’s good enough for me.” Molly reached out, and tested how much he could get a grip on Vax’s armor. 

    The answer was very, enough to make Vax bend over nearly parallel to Molly when Molly pulled. It was an awkward angle; Molly still hadn’t gotten up from where he’d been laying at the bottom of the boat. A curtain of dark hair fell around their faces, and from behind Vax’s ear a string of colorful beads were dislodged and fell with a noise like a mouse-sized windchime, clacking against each other. 

    “We should find somewhere better to do this,” Vax said. “This boat’s still full of crap.”

    “I thought we were waiting?”

   “It’s been a long while,” Vax said apologetically. “It doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve gotten a sense for time passing down here. It’s been longer than it feels like.” He leaned down, just far enough to press a kiss to Molly’s cheekbone. “We have time when I let you off. Her Majesty can wait for me a little longer.”

    Molly breathed in, and breathed out. It was more out of habit than anything - it was possible that he was only recalling that it calmed him down, rather than it actually calming him. He still felt strangely detached from his emotions. The tease of a kiss hadn’t done much to even make him blush, though it had felt nice. 

    “What a thing to go to,” he said aloud. “A death I felt coming for me, a tryst, and an eternity of wandering a forest with a bunch of shades.”

    “I think the dead may surprise you,” Vax said.

    “You speak for all of them?”

    “Only me. But they were once someone, just as you were once someone. And the realms of the gods are vast. If you wish to wander far afield...I don’t think Sehanine’s the kind to stop you.”

    Molly pondered the idea. “They say death is the next big adventure,” he said. “How large is Sehanine’s realm? How large the ones beyond it?”

    “Very,” Vax said. “You might have trouble leaving some of them - but that’s not to say you can’t. You just can’t stop being dead at will.”

    “Well, if I’m dead, at least I have a nice companion.”

    “As long as you’ll have me.” Vax stood, and took up his pole again. The boat moved fluidly through the possibly-nonexistent water as he began to push again. “Now let’s find somewhere nicer and take a moment. I haven’t had a break in my whole afterlife - I figure I’m overdue.”

Molly stretched out, and linked his hands behind his head to watch. Something dug into his side, and when he fumbled to push it away, he realized it was in one of his pockets. The tarot cards, in his haste, had been shoved inside at an angle that made one corner press into his ribs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought occurred to Molly that this arrangement was very unfair - he was dead, shouldn’t he have stopped feeling pain?

Molly held the deck, thoughtful. He was aware of Vax’s eyes on him as he, slowly, drew a card.

The card was as vibrant as any other in the deck. The scythe gleamed and tricked the eyes into thinking it really shone, and the skull of Death had a faint yellowish shadow to it in places, indicating the worn state of the bone. Death's cloak was black as night, or an inkstain. Molly stared at it, rubbing one thumb thoughtfully over the corner.

“A little obvious,” he said aloud, “but maybe I needed obvious.”

He let his hand relax. The Death card fluttered down to rest on the bottom of the boat, and the other cards fell similarly in a haphazard mess. Let someone else take them up, or let him be buried with them. He had no need for them now. 

As he stared up at the blank sky, Molly was sure he saw Vax smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, Molly was going to end up resurrected. However, after episode 27 (and my subsequent move from denial to depression, and later acceptance), I figured him going onwards would fit better. After all, whether he's resurrected or not, he would have ended up _somewhere _at this point.__
> 
> __The tarot reading and runecasting is as accurate as I can make it - I've cast runes for myself before, and girlsonthetv knows palm reading, so those at least we have down pat. Tarot, however, we winged like we were Daedalus escaping the castle in Greek myth. Sue us._ _


End file.
